


Its Own Season

by micehell



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Team-y in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-02
Updated: 2006-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:11:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's kind of hot for a winter festival, isn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Its Own Season

"It's kind of hot for a winter festival, isn't it?"

"It would not be so on Athos," Teyla answers shortly. She wipes a hand across her forehead, doing little more than moving the sweat around, before she goes back to laying out the stones that mark out the competition ring.

John feels a pang of guilt at that inadvertent hit, but lets it go; being hot always makes Teyla cranky. Athos had been a fairly cool world by the stories she's told. He looks up at the sky, clear and blue, and empty of anything but the too bright sun that shimmers the anything but cool air around them, and he's glad that he's not over with Rodney and Ronon, who are working by the cook fires, trying to look helpful enough that they can get some extras. "Why didn't you guys just convert your holiday to the Lantean winter instead of sticking to your old calendar?"

Teyla pauses, studying one of the rocks in her hand as if it has the answer. "It was… suggested. But I… we felt that Ankar was not simply a winter festival, and therefore the actual days were of more significance than the season."

He can tell there's more here, the weight of what she's not saying hanging between them, but he's not sure if she really wants to talk about it. He's also not sure how to ask. John decides stealth is the answer, and approaches the question from the rear. "So what's Ankar really about then?"

She lays the last of the rocks down before answering, drawing him over to one of the benches that border the ring. Ronon looks over at them, his brows drawing together in a question, but John shakes his head at him. He's got it for now, and it's not like Ronon's any better at the talking thing. Rodney's also looking at them, but John shakes his head at him, too, mainly because Rodney's making a production out of the stirring he's doing to emphasize how he's working while John and Teyla are just sitting there.

Her soft voice takes on that almost lilting cadence the Athosians use for storytelling, and she reminds him so much of his kindergarten teacher during story hour, that John gets a nostalgic craving for graham crackers and milk.

"On Athos, fall was a very busy time of the year, everyone working to gather the last of the fruits, herbs, and nuts, drying and preserving them along with whatever the hunting parties brought in to store up against the winter. But when winter came, there was little to do in the way of work, and the weather often kept us indoors for days on end, with little enough daylight even when it was clear to do much to relieve the weight of the long nights. So long ago, my people created a mid-winter festival to break up the dullness of the season. For the week of Ankar, everyone would gather in the meeting hall to hear stories of our history, and to tell tales, each one bigger than the last. Even during lean years, there would always be enough saved aside so that there could be feasts during that week, with the cooks and bakers working hard to outshine each other on what treats they could produce. There were exhibitions from the various craftsmen, showing off the best of their art, and competitions for music and dancing."

"Which you won every year, I bet."

Her eyes have a hint of smugness in them as she slowly nods, her lips pursed in apparent consideration. "I won a few of those competitions, yes. But the one I always really wanted to win was in stick fighting. However, there was one boy, Deran, who was always just slightly better than I, and I could never seem to gain the edge with him."

John tries to imagine someone better than Teyla, and is glad he's never had to face him. He's never heard of Deran, though, and he wonders if he's the memory that's significant to her. He's still trying to sneak up on that objective, though, so he says, "Sounds cool. But if it was just meant to relieve the winter doldrums, why celebrate it now?"

Teyla doesn't have any rocks in her hands to deflect her attention now, but she flexes her fingers, keeping her eyes on them instead of John. "There is an old legend… I have no idea where it started, but supposedly, if someone dies during Ankar, it is supposed to be a sign of a blessing. That wherever they may travel afterwards, it will be a peaceful place for them."

He can tell this is it, the thing that's bothering her, and he's always been really bad about talking about feelings and stuff, but he still asks, "Deran?"

She shakes her head. "It was the year I turned twenty. We were the final two in the competition, as we had been for all four years since we had been allowed to compete, but I had been practicing, going out into the woods so that no one would see. My father had warned me about going out alone, but I was determined to win that year, because Deran had a habit of mentioning my losses rather too often, and I wanted to… break him of that habit."

John translates that as, _I wanted to knock him on his ass_ , and as he's been in that position once or twice himself, he just smiles. "Did you?"

The flexing fingers pull in, going white as Teyla balls her hands into fists. "I did. I was very happy, and I may even have been gloating a little. I turned to find my father, wanting to see his smile, and perhaps to gloat a little there, too, that my practices had been worth it, but I couldn’t find him. I looked for him, but he wasn't anywhere around. Nor had anyone seen him."

This isn't a story that can end well, and John feels awkward as hell, but he puts his arms around her shoulders anyway, relaxing a little as she leans into him. Ronon's giving them a concerned look, and Rodney's giving John the evil eye and mouthing _Kirk_ at him, but it's just a cover, the mock evil eye that Rodney uses to keep people from guessing how emotionally aware he really is. "Did you find him?"

"He was in his bed. He hadn't gotten up that day, but I hadn't noticed, so caught up in beating Deran."

"Teyla-"

But she cuts him off, covering the hand he has on her shoulder with one of hers, squeezing softly, "I know, and it has been many years, it is just… Ankar has been a mixed blessing since then. My father had been hurt that summer when there was a Wraith attack on a settlement he was trading at. He had only been brushed by the Wraith, not truly fed upon, but it had left him in pain for so long. Yet he looked at peace when I found him. So I told myself it was for the best, his dying during Ankar the blessing it was supposed to be. And it was a good thing that he didn't hurt any longer, but… I still missed him. I miss him still."

John, who's father is still alive, and still unmissed after years of separation can only hug her closer and say with utter sincerity, "I'm sorry."

Teyla pulls his head down to hers, resting against him for a moment, then sits up, pulling away, keeping a hold on one of his hands, but easing the closeness between them. "Thank you."

They don't say anything more, but nothing more is needed, thankfully, and John's grateful that after years of living without it, he's found people who can understand how truly bad he is at this, but who don't need him to be any different in order to stay with him.

Rodney's moved closer, fidgeting near the edge of the competition ring, hesitating, because John's not the only one who's bad at the talking thing, but Ronon takes the decision away from him, one arm sliding around Rodney's waist to sling him next to John and Teyla. Rodney glares at Ronon, but sits down next to John anyway, his leg jittering as he makes pointed comments about John's lack of work.

Ronon half-lies on the bench next to Teyla, holding his weight up with one arm, his long legs resting against one of the legs of the bench, resting comfortingly against one of Teyla's legs.

For someone who actually talks less than John and Rodney, he seems to be better at it than they are, even when he doesn't actually say anything, and John's impressed. Until Ronon actually does start talking. "When does all this festival junk end and they start serving dinner?"

Which just sets Rodney off, too, but Teyla's smiling at them, amusement and affection in her voice as she answers.

John's never been too fond of holidays, too full of expectations raised that were never met, but he has to admit, he's looking forward to dinner himself.

/story

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Eliot, _Little Gidding_ from _The Four Quartets_ if I remember right. Ankar, besides its name, owes something of itself to Sankranti, because a) winter festival, and b) the idea that it is a blessing when someone dies on it.


End file.
